


80s Night

by erichtho



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, posting all my bitty fics in one day bc i need to get it out my system b4 i go back to work, what has my life come to honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:32:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erichtho/pseuds/erichtho
Summary: Cerberus felt like a teenager. He felt like a nervous teenager about to ask his date to prom, and it was absolutely awful.





	80s Night

Cerberus felt like a teenager. He felt like a nervous teenager about to ask his date to prom, and it was absolutely awful. Never mind that they were already dancing – well, hugging and shuffling in a slow circle – he still felt like an anxious child. If the incubus could talk it would be laughing at him. In fact, it probably was.

Still, he reassured himself, all was going well so far. The movie – a Bride of Frankenstein screening – had gone down better than he could’ve ever hoped, even if Hilda did cry on two separate occasions because ‘she just felt so bad for the monster.’ Cerberus’ lizard brain had at that point told him she was only dating him out of pity, for the stark parallels between himself and Boris Karloff’s heavily painted face were not lost on him, but she’d kissed his cheek almost immediately after making the statement and he felt that, perhaps on this occasion, his lizard brain had been overreacting.

And then there was 80s Night. Another sterling, overwhelming success. Greendale had always been a far cry from party city, which hitherto had suited Cerberus’ just fine, but now he had Hilda, well, he had hoped they could do _nice_ things together. Greendale, until now, had been very slow to provide.  

There were only two nightclubs, and one was far too youthful – it was full of teenagers in miniskirts for Christs’ sake, he couldn’t take a lady there. He could barely take himself. Besides, when he’d mentioned The Fireside’s 80s night, Hilda had almost jumped at his throat. (Not literally, he’d noticed with some disappointment, but her eyes had lit up and she’d gasped a little and Cerberus had felt his stomach do a strange flutter and that was, probably, even nicer than some of the lewder images running through his brain.)

The club was fun and stupid, and although there were a number of overexcited twenty-somethings hurtling about the dance floor, there were enough older individuals to keep them in place. It was the sort of atmosphere Hilda’s sister would have called ‘insipid’ or ‘degenerate’, but Hilda was not, _Thank God_ , her sister.

Hilda and Cee had carved out a niche on the corner of the dance floor and stayed there indefinitely, leaving only to buy a drink or catch their breath outside. At first, he’d been surprised at just how well-versed Hilda was, singing along to almost everything, but then she’d candidly informed him of her age and, well, it explained a lot. For her, this was less of a nostalgia trip and more of a recent memory.

And now, twenty minutes to midnight, they were dancing in a slow, delightfully tipsy circle, Hilda’s cheek flush to his chest, his hands on her hips and hers on his shoulders. Over the speakers Diana Ross was crooning on and on about Endless Love, and he wondered if the DJ had seen them and done this on purpose. Even the younger patrons had calmed down, retreating to the smoking area, or lingering at the bar, and Cerberus realised that it was now or never. He took a deep breath, puffing his chest out and gritting his teeth. A part of him was still close to abandoning the effort, because what _if_ something happened? What _if_ things went the same way as before?

But there was Damascus steel at his wrist and the woman he loved in his arms and he was not going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Even if the opportunity was contrived.

“Hilda?”

“Mhm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He felt her cheeks raise as she smiled against his chest.

“Mhm.”

“I… Um… I was wondering if…” Oh God, why was his voice so obtuse? And since when was it so high pitched? He coughed, cleared his throat, then tried again. “I was wondering if you might like to come back to my place this evening. Only,” and he had to clear his throat once more, “Only if you like.”

There. It was all done.

For a time, Hilda didn’t reply. They continued shuffling until Diana Ross was rather abruptly interrupted by ABBA, who wanted a man after midnight. Cerberus’ blood ran cold and he glared in the direction of the DJ booth, and although the disc-jockey wasn’t even looking at them, Cerberus was fairly certain this had been a deliberate decision. The universe was either rooting for him or laughing at him, and he couldn’t quite decide which.

At the sound of Mamma Mia’s progenitor, a slew of pretty young things stamped ecstatically back onto the dance floor, pushing Hilda and Cerberus even closer into their tiny corner. On his chest he felt Hilda smiling again, then chuckling, and then, when the couple next to them began to kiss in such a way Cerberus feared for their oxygen levels, Hilda threw her head back and laughed. At him? Or with him? Oh God, could she read minds? That would be the single most terrible thing on the entire planet. Surely there would have been a rule about that, no one should have the right to–

“Yes,” she said.

Cerberus blinked.

“What?”

“Yes!” And she stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss right then and there, straight on his lips. She tasted of sugar and fruit cider. “I would love to come home with you.”

Cerberus blinked again, and then, there it was, that terrible asking-your-crush-to-prom feeling.

“Great,” he said, “Great that’s… That’s great.”

He went to kiss her back, but she only smiled and rocked back on her heels, leaving him chasing behind. When he didn’t meet her the second time, he opened his eyes and she grinned at him, the cat who got the cream.

“Come on,” she said, taking his hand and dragging him through the crowd. What were they playing now? Still ABBA? That explained why there were so many people on the dancefloor.

“Right now?”

“Why not?”

They toppled out onto the street, where the air was just as damp but decidedly colder.

“Are you sure?”

“Listen,” said Hilda, and she put her arms around his neck and stood on her tiptoes once more and Cee felt himself blushing, “I have had the worst, most stressful, most ridiculous, stupid week of my entire bloody life. My niece is the son of Satan and my house is full of twenty-nine, _twenty-nine,_ witches. Do you know what it’s like living with twenty-nine witches?”

“Well… No?”

“And you better hope you never find out.” She kissed him, softly, on the cheek. “So, _Doctor_ Cee, I would love to come home with you tonight. And tomorrow night, and the night after that, and the night after that, if you’ll have me.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Oh, for Satan’s sake, yes!”

And she kissed him, properly this time. Cerberus felt a tingling in his toes, a tingling in somewhere else, and the night air suddenly seemed irrelevant. He thought back to the kids inside, and decided that maybe love trumped oxygen when it came to… Well, this sort of thing. Then Hilda lowered her hands to his hips, and he stopped thinking of the kids inside, or the people walking past, or even the bystanders leering out at them from across the road. He thought of no one else but her.

They stood, snogging in the street, like a pair of drunk free-lovers.

“Fuckin’ get it, Grandad!”

Cerberus had never been a violent man (at least not of his own resolve), yet he felt a sudden affinity with Michael Myers. He pulled away from Hilda, hard, and went to round on the hooded youth, but Hilda grabbed his wrists and tugged him back before he got the chance. The youth shot him a middle finger as he scampered down the road, cackling, and Cerberus would have yelled, but Hilda was giggling again and it was so endearing he couldn’t remember what he wanted to say.

“Leave it,” said Hilda, lips curled into a delightfully coquettish smile, “It’s not worth it. Besides,” and she dropped her voice to a whisper, “Don’t you _want_ to get it?”

Cerberus swallowed.

“I, uh… Yes?”

Oh Christ, he thought, was that the right answer?

But then Hilda kept smiling, so he began to smile too, and then she started laughing, so he began to laugh too, and then they were laughing and smiling and falling over each other and staggering down the street, his arm over her shoulder, hers around his waist.

“I love you,” he said, and she nudged into him, ever so slightly.

“I love you too.”


End file.
